


Living with a Ghost of Summer

by itsbeautiful



Series: Fabric of a Fragile Home [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arguing, Blow Jobs, But Will is still terrible at lying, Consensual Kink, Cooking, Crying Hannibal, Crying Will, Established Relationship, Hannibal is sleep deprived and a little irrational, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, Light Sadism, Lithuanian food, M/M, Murder Husbands, Will Loves Hannibal, surprise dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsbeautiful/pseuds/itsbeautiful
Summary: Based on a requested prompt. Where Will is an idiot, ahem, I mean Will loves Hannibal and tries to surprise him by making a home cooked meal using dishes from Lithuania. Fails spectacularly to lie his way out of it and everything goes horribly wrong. And then they cuddle. The end.*He wanted to run. To be anywhere but that room. Questions hanging heavily in the air.“A moment ago, I was considering choking the life out of you with your apron,” The older man said in a monotone.“Well. I...” Will looked at the half apron covered in flour, smattered in frying oil, and smudged in various sticky stains of berries. Then at his bright red knuckles, throb pulsating up his arm. He glanced at the wedding bands on his other hand. “I…would like it if you reconsidered, darling?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zhelaniye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhelaniye/gifts).



The first time Will disappeared from their bed in the middle of the night Hannibal thought nothing of it. Simply stretched his hand across cool sheets and drifted in dream until he woke to find skin shaded by grey morning light. He held tighter in moments caught between sleep and consciousness, when he was not yet certain if he would wake to find their life together a dream and the younger man no longer beside him.

By the end of the first week, he began to find he woke more often to an empty bed than not. He had promised not to pry. To let Will come to him when and if he needed support. Instead, he lay awake staring at mirrored wisps of ocean bouncing off their ceiling and waited with a heavy heart. He made no mention of it in the following days, confused by the bright smile that greeted him over breakfast and one of softened candlelight before they went to sleep. A stark contrast to the hours stretching out before him in the night, restless and no longer able to sleep without the steadying calm of Will’s breathing.

His anxiety became a nervous tick of fingers and frowns nearing the end of the second week. He tossed and turned in their bed. Whatever was bothering Will only seemed to plague him at night. He wasn’t waking to sweat soaked sheets or shouting, just the dip of a mattress where the younger man should have been. Their lives went on without disruption during the day, shared meals and pleasant conversation. The ever present tender mouth smiling some secret he had yet to unravel and brushing close to kiss him. He tried to stare beyond the constant rush of ocean blue that weakened every fiber of his bones and saw only his desperate love, longing, and need for closeness reflected.

Tonight was no different. He squinted at their silver analog clock. _3:22 am._ Throwing back sheets with a growl of exasperation, Hannibal padded out of the bedroom to search for Will. To drag him back to their bed by force if necessary. Tie him to the frame or smother him by lying on top of his body. Whatever it took to make him stay. The older man rubbed aching eyes, posture slumping as he made his way down stairs and towards a clink of glass coming from a dark study. He needed sleep. And for that he needed his husband. Willing participant or not.He found the elusive paramour in question sitting in an almost pitch dark room.

Will was perched on the edge of a desk balancing a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a tablet on a crossed leg. His gaze drew across the sweeping lines of a bare back. The younger man was stooped, flicking idly across the screen, lost in concentration. Hues of luminous white and blue touched his cheeks and narrowed eyes. A moue of bewilderment drooped his mouth. He squinted at a blurred image, muttering something beneath his breath.

“Would you care to come back to bed, William?” Hannibal asked, drawing up behind him and tipping over a shoulder to discover what was far more paramount than ensuring he was well rested.

“Jesus!” Will jumped, nearly dropping everything in hand and whirled around. His skin flushed in the dim light. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack!”

The older man watched a curious punching of digital buttons and screens disappearing before the Ipad was placed face down on the desk. His gaze slid upward. Will drained amber liquid in a long swallow before it joined its companion with a tap. His chest tightened. He wanted to ask. To voice his concerns. To provide a gentle reminder, a promise to be understanding, if the younger man would only tell him what was wrong. He had vowed to be patient, but they had both agreed to be more open. No more secrets or trapped feelings without discussing them. Eyes flicked between Will and the screen in hopes of a forthcoming explanation or half formulated excuse. When neither happened, he reached for the tablet.

One calloused palm covered his stilling all movement. “Don’t you trust me?”

“An absurd question.”

“A more evasive answer.”

“If you have nothing to hide, then let me see what you were looking at.”

“What do you think you’re going to find?”

“Why don’t you do me the courteous of telling me so I do not have to play twenty questions, Will. I am not in the mood.”

“I could tell you I was.” A single fingertip trailed up an inner thigh. “Maybe I was enjoying some late night porn.”

The older man blinked. “Could you not have done so from the comfort of our bed?”

“Shouldn’t you be, I dunno…” Will quirked his head to the side. “Indignant by the prospect of me finding pleasure in other ways that don’t involve you?”

“At the moment, I am too sleep deprived to offer anything except a hand if it might return you to bed and me to a dreamless prospect of sleep.” Amber eyes lifted to find cooling green blue falling to the twitch of a scowl. “Though I had no idea our entanglements were lacking inspiration. So much so it required-" His nose wrinkled distastefully. "-this instead of asking for what you needed. Unless _I_ am the source of your boredom?”

“You’re kidding, right?”  

Hannibal was about to insist—no, demand an answer, a real answer. He was too exhausted and prickly to pretend to be reasonable.—to know what was going on when Will pushed off the desk and glided forward with a sway of hips. A flicker of a smile appeared. Palms slid up his wrists and settled on shoulders before giving a light push. Hannibal felt broad stripes of wooden shelves prick his spine and then silken marble of a smooth chest sliding after in pursuit.

“Will, we ought to—“ The rest of his sentence left in a gasp as Will tugged sharply on his hair, chin tilting up, to gain access to his mouth.

Books rattled with another push. Will pinned hands above his head in a single fist to stretch him out. Hannibal turned the profile of his face to punctuate his resolve of not being distracted. Especially not by such blatant manipulation. He stiffened as knuckles trailed shoulders then down a navel. The younger man was hiding something. His stomach flipped sickly. The both knew from experience if they ignored the issue it would fester and erupt in an explosive argument. They needed to talk. He, for one, was not going to suffer the view of his husband’s back storming off ever again and they both knew it.

Will hummed against his ear, lips curving amusement. “Hmm. Ignoring me I see?”

He was going to carve that lush pout off his face in a moment. His teeth set on edge for a second to snap before his entire jaw slackened. Will began to alternate between sucking and biting his throat, nudging legs apart with a knee and pressing a palm between them. He tried to form words to protest. To argue. To pretend he had any other decision then giving in. A curl of fingers felt blistering hot through silk pajamas, caressing lightly at first then more insistently as fabric grew damp. His breath hitched on a groan. He was caught between the soothing lap of a tongue and scrape of teeth keeping rhythm with a hand. Teasing strokes. The wet patch on silk spread as his cock throbbed. His fingers impatiently ticked inside a fist, desperate to rake nails over skin, hold tight, make the younger man give him what he wanted instead of laughing low against his ear. He was tired of being held back, sleeping alone and being kept on the other side of the veil they had grown used to sharing. The grip around his wrist tightened as he struggled, holding him at bay with ease. Soon he found himself bucking hips seeking friction and groaning.

Breath knocked out of him. Will flung him over a side of the chaise on his belly, arms trapped beneath his own weight. He growled against cushions, nails digging in and pushing to flip over. The younger man chuckled airily and shoved him down with the flat of a palm on the small of his back. He lost balance completely, tips of toes scrabbling to find the rough texture of the Persian rug. Fingers splayed across the brand on his back, swirling tenderly. He squirmed as a pinky tugged pajamas inch by inch over hips. Cool air wafted over the swell of an ass as silk pooled around hips and tangled on the rounded armrest. A thumb smoothed a freckle. Then a palm reddened skin with a smack. Pleasure blossomed over hot skin. Hannibal rocked forward trying to bare a leaking cock with a yelp. Then a groan as a forearm jammed beneath a stomach to lift. He clenched his jaw and panted on velvet. He waited for the familiar rub and press to open him, the wet lap of a tongue, or grip of a palm around his shaft. Only a spit slicked cock slid between his thighs.

Will pressed a kiss to shoulder and murmured, “You’re rude when you can’t ask for what _you_ need, Hannibal. All you had to do was say ‘come back to bed, please.’”

“Then come back to bed already and we can do away with the pretense!” Hannibal snapped, shuddering as hands pressed his thighs tight against the slow push and pull of a hard shaft.

“Uh uh. Too late. And that wasn't a please.” The younger man slapped an outer thigh, mouth moving to breathe hot against an ear. “Now you aren’t allowed to come. Either to bed or right now.”

Will began to thrust lazily at first then a bit faster, groaning when Hannibal tightened his thighs. He pressed down, attempting to angle, feeling a faint bob of a swollen head trickling against a sway of balls and shaft. He twisted a hand between cushions and his body, tip of an index finger circling beads of liquid and prodding at a slit. He whined as another thrust trapped his hand completely. He ached with each tortuous drag, moaning as the younger man changed his angle, shoving knees wider apart. Wet heat dragged against him. Sweat pooled between thighs and fabric. He started to rock in earnest. He could feel white heat of orgasm building over and over again. Fizzing out before rising again. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. Snapping hips became more erratic. Deafening moans mouthed and bitten along his shoulder. He strained to reach himself, slick in heat and both their cum, to find release.

Two sharp smacks sent him reeling. The younger man yanked his hand away and replaced it with his own, grip delaying his orgasm once more, before coming with a cry of his name. Will draped along his back, sweaty and panting, nuzzling affectionately against growls rumbling threateningly inside a chest.

Easy laughter purred. "I can hear you threatening to cut out my organs from here, love, and you aren't even saying anything."

Hannibal was flipped on to his back, feet banging furiously on the carpet. Now he was uncomfortably aroused and Will still lacked the decency to tell him what the hell was going on. He was red faced and about to shout when a mouth engulfed his unattended cock. The younger man sank on with a choke, yanking him to the edge, and began to suck, cheeks hollowed. His grunts turned to throaty moans as come slicked fingers scissored him open one by one. He wrenched at cushions and silky curls alike, heels digging ribs and thighs as he became too sensitive. Each drag of fingers too much. Every suck and wriggle of a tongue torturous. He was burning up. Struggling to break free, vision swimming then blank. 

Will clamped hips, spit gushing over dark curls, and slick fingers thrust harder against a prostrate. He started to hum. Hannibal felt the vibration flow over his cock, draw up his balls, body stiffening. Somewhere his groans had turned to hoarse pleading screams. With a final wrenching throb in the back of a throat he came hard and fast. Sensation lingering on taunting lips and lingered on a muddled _'I love you'_ sliding up a thigh. He collapsed on the chaise and fell into a deep, delirious sleep.

 

*

“Will…” Hannibal croaked, consciousness surfacing. 

He blinked blearily at shadow surroundings. He was back in bed. Muscles he wasn’t even aware of possessing flared aches and sharp electrics bursts. He stared longingly at the door to the master bath. He wanted to sink in scalding hot water in the garden tub and never leave it. He looked down to find he was wearing a pair of the younger man’s plaid cotton pajamas, wiped clean, hint of lavender wafting. A glass of water was sitting next to the tablet. He knocked the tablet in to his lap and pawed clumsily at the screen. He opened a web browser, mouse hovering over search history. He hesitated for a moment then clicked. It was empty. Recently cleared. He rolled over. Touch alerted him to smoothed sheets and pillows. There was a single note reading, _Be home soon._ Will was, as he should have expected, nowhere to be found.

 

*

A sleek midnight blue Audi was parked at the end of a circle drive, keys in the ignition, engine quiet.

Hannibal slammed the door to the Mercedes nearly catching his silk tie. He tore it off and left it at the foot of a fountain. He marched down the steep drive and considered all the ways he was going to choke Will before slowly and painfully killing him. He rolled up crisp sleeves. The younger man hadn’t just fucked him senseless and scampered off in his sleep to tinker on the boat or trail aimlessly through the woods. Oh no. He had left their bed. Their house. Vanished into thin air off the property. Leaving his cell phone on the kitchen table with a log of a dozen mysterious phone calls at all hours of the night and day to a number he didn’t recognize. He was the only one that called Will. Except when the boy refused to carry his phone. Ensuring there was no way to contact him. He hadn't been at their flat in the city. There were no further notes, no luggage taken, he was just _gone_.

That was a little over a week ago.

Now Will was home. Just like that. As if nothing happened. And Hannibal was going to wring his beautiful neck. Then kill whoever was on the other end of that phone number. In the most bloody and inhumane way possible.

“William!” The older man roared, front door hammering on the foyer wall as it was hurled open. “We need to—“

Something banged.

A startled yelp sounded from the kitchen. “ _Goddammit_!”

Hannibal stalked blindly through the house and narrowed a searing gaze on shadowy outlines.

 

*

“Goddammit!”

Will howled pain when his hand narrowly missed an oven door snapping shut and connected with glowing coils heated at 350 degrees. An intricately layered pie banged the tray then settled in to cook. A meager oven mitt fell to the floor. He hopped away as if he had stubbed his toe, nerves shaken by searing flesh and his husband’s blood thirsty scream shaking the walls of their house. He clamped teeth together to keep a slur of _fuck, fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck, why_ to himself. He had managed to have the house to himself for the last three days while Hannibal went looking for him in the city. Which was far more time than he anticipated, especially given how long he had gotten stuck in customs. And of course _, of course_ the older man had to come home now and ruin everything. He hadn't even set out the wine to breathe or lit the candles.

“What have you done this time,” A steely voice demanded.

The younger man hobbled to the sink and stuck a burning hand underneath a blast of cold water. He grit teeth. He didn’t look behind him. He could feel an ice cold stare carving over his hunched figure. He shivered. The kitchen was practically drowning him in waves of murderous intent. As if they didn't have enough reason to avoid one another in kitchens during arguments already.

“Nothing, nothing,” He muttered. “It’s fine.”

Now what was he supposed to do? He poked at blistered skin and grimaced. He couldn’t very well ask Hannibal to leave. They would both end up bleeding out.

Teeth audibly clicked. “I will get the kit.”

It took a full thirty seconds and sound of heels scraping across the floor for Will to register the fact Hannibal was not cutting him open, but going upstairs to fix him. And then cut him open. Which meant he had to walk right past.... the dining room.

“Wait!”

The younger man scrambled after, but it was too late.

“Hannibal, don’t!”

He made it as far as the arched doorway and froze.

“Will…” A strangled voice echoed eerily.

Wincing, Will slumped near the refrigerator and considered banging his head repeatedly against it until he lost consciousness. It would be easier to bear than hurt and disappointment resonating his husband’s tone. Shoes scuffed unsteadily back to the kitchen. Blue eyes looked safely through downturned lashes, cheeks flushing red, watching fists clench and knuckles drain white. He could see expressions of rage and confusion twitching angles of a face in the mopped tile. He wanted to run. To be anywhere but that room. Questions hanging heavily in the air.

“A moment ago, I was considering choking the life out of you with your apron,” The older man said in a monotone.

“Well. I...” Will looked at the half apron covered in flour, smattered in frying oil, and smudged in various sticky stains of berries. Then at his bright red knuckles, throb pulsating up his arm. He glanced at the wedding bands on his other hand. “I…would like it if you reconsidered, darling?”

He waited for a sigh of exasperation. A cruel quip. Doors to slam. Or a racing heart to fill the silence as he dodged an assault of knives thrown his direction. Anything but silence. He slumped with the weight of it, scouring hands through his hair and finally took a deep breath before looking up. It felt like all the oxygen on the entire planet evaporated. He couldn’t move or think.

Hannibal was braced on the island counter as if mortally wounded, unable to stand on his own, palm jammed over his mouth to muffle a silent scream. He was a rumpled mess of anxious wrinkles. Silver tangled his forehead with damp static. Black smudged beneath furiously blinking even as tears streamed down a face. Muddy rain soaked deserts struggled to meet his gaze. Filled with uncertainty and shame and self doubt.

Will wished Hannibal had killed him. It would have hurt less than this. What the fuck had he done?

“I upset you…” Will spoke as if the words were torn out of his lungs, bloodied and bruised, and turning crimson on air. “I’m such a fucking idiot. I just wanted…never mind what I wanted. I’ll go clean up.”

The younger man trudged sluggishly across the kitchen as if battling a river current upstream. He dragged a trashcan after, dull scrape the loudest thing he had ever heard. It was cruel and unforgiving. He should have known better.

“I’ll throw it out.”

Hannibal caught Will by the arm, grip bruising, but still refused to look at him. He was staring out the small window at roiling waves of the sea beyond. Somewhere else, but not with Will.

“I only wanted to surprise you. And I couldn’t find all the ingredients locally and then I had to call fucking Chiyoh for help.” He tore away and began pacing a circle in the kitchen, around and around and around, circling Hannibal as his voice continued to rise. Louder and louder. Screaming over the one in his head. “Fly to goddamn Lithuania for some of it. It was just supposed to be a couple of days. But oh no. Then I got stuck at the border and had to call Chiyoh again. Then we ended up taking a train most of the way back. Do you have any idea the kind of complex that woman gave me about them? And then I—never mind. It was stupid. _I’m stupid._ I am so fucking…sorry. And—fuck!”

An empty copper saucepan sailed through the air and dented veneer of the white cabinets before falling flat with a clash.

“Why can’t I do anything right! God fucking forbid I try to do something nice without it blowing up in my face as usual. At least this time, you didn't get hit by a car and nearly die. So I guess there's that.”

They stood, cabinets and furniture between them, chests heaving and both looking at the ceiling trying to pretend they weren’t in tears.

"It isn’t my birthday,” The older man choked out. “Or Christmas. It isn’t our anniversary.”

Will shook his head pitifully, crushing tears with a wrist. “It’s Wednesday, baby…”

“I need to sit.”

He turned quickly at the announcement. Will barely reached out before Hannibal teetered and slid down the side of the refrigerator. He was ghostly white, red eyes glazed. He sounded like a memory, airy and insubstantial and drifting farther and father away.

“Is it a holiday?”

“No.” The younger man felt tears clawing from his lungs, eyes stinging with the mental effort not to look away and speak. He wanted to cradle a crumbling face and beg Hannibal to forget everything, pretend like none of it ever happened. “Does it need to be? Would that have made it better somehow?”

“Do you know…” Red eyes flicked up, drowning in despair, response hollow and ringing. “…how long it has been since I last had a meal from my country?”

He shook his head, biting his tongue, focusing on the intense throb instead of the abject pain radiating openly in his husband’s features.

“My mother and father were both alive then. As was my sister.”

“Christ, Hannibal, I didn’t—“

Lunging forward, Will jerked Hannibal unsteadily between his knees and cupped the back of a head with both palms. Large hands wrenched at the collar of his shirt as arms enclosed. The older man began to sob, breath hot and ragged. He whispered _shh, shh_ against a crown of a head, rocking them both back and forth. He stared at a far wall through a well of tears and begged inwardly for it to stop. He couldn’t take that broken wail of agony. Of loss. Sense of failure. Buried beneath the weight of responsibility. He hated himself for unwittingly calling it to the surface. Especially after Hannibal had promised to leave his demons in peace. He sighed. He had just wanted to show how much he cared. What a disaster. What did he expect honestly?

“Take my hand...” Will murmured softly, kissing a brow as the older man tried to curl tighter and hide, every bone in his body shaking. “You need to come with me, Hannibal. Can you do that? That’s it…”

A damp palm curled hesitantly over his. The younger man threaded his arm through and held tight to a waist. Hannibal wove unsteadily keeping a blotchy face covered, sobs piquing when they banged against a corner or a wall. He nuzzled a neck, kissed his wrist, rubbed soothing circles down ribs. Whispering soft commands and gentle praises as they went to the dining room.

“I’m gonna sit you right here.” Will lowered Hannibal to a chair at the end of a long oak table, dragging hair and tears from soaked skin and kissed a ripple of wrinkles. “Is that okay?”

 

*

His ribs ached. His skin felt too tight around his bones. Hannibal felt trapped. His lungs had caught fire. And he couldn’t breathe. He was sure he couldn’t. Every time he tried it came out in a warbling cry or a choked sob. He quaked against gentle hands pushing him back in to the chair every time he tried to rise and flee.

“Hey…”

Two fingers slid under his chin and tipped his face to look where Will was kneeling at his feet.

“Look at me.” A smile filled blue eyes with overwhelming compassion, inflection foam caressing a shoreline. A crisp linen napkin unfolded and dabbed at his tears. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be. It won’t hurt my feelings if you get up and leave. Okay? I can cook you something else. Nod if you understand?”

Hannibal made a pained noise of reply and nodded.

Will stood cautiously, one hand still on his shoulder as if he might bolt. “I’m going to get us both two fingers of whiskey, alright? Just sit there.”

He reached out involuntarily and clutched the stained hem of a shirt. He couldn’t look up and ask the younger man to stay. He hiccuped on a tangle of pleading. A sweet smile pressed to his hairline before Will retreated.

Hannibal stared at the napkin in his lap. He didn’t dare look at the table. His eyes drifted to scuffs on leather shoes. He sniffled, mopping at his face. He glanced at two pairs of eyes glowing on the other side of door’s frame. Evidently Will had ordered them to stay out and the dogs were heeding the command despite how furiously their tails wagged. Winston even looked mildly bored, chin resting on paws, brown eyes assessing his blubbering master.

His attention rose to a plaid elbow near his head. The hand holding the glass was bound in a fine gauze. The older man kissed fingertips gingerly before taking it. He had meant to tend to it before falling apart. Ice clanked as Hannibal threw back the whiskey without an ounce of finesse. Will smiled down at him and did the same. The younger man folded sheepishly on an edge of the table waiting for his days of work to be appraised. Unlit candles were arranged around a vase of red roses. A slender cup was nudged a few inches towards his fingertips hopefully.

Slowly inhaling a steady breath, Hannibal slid hands around the cup. Rich liquid the color of rubies was topped with freshly plucked dandelion and baby’s breath. Its texture was a thick puree _. Kisielius_. His sister’s favorite drink. He inhaled citrus notes of cranberry before taking a sip and was transported to a summer of his youth.

 

_“You must hold still, little deer!” Hannibal chided a tiny sprite in a pale violet eyelet dress wriggled in his arms. “Your face is covered in jam and kisielius! Do wish for honey bees to mistake your pretty face for a flower, hm?”_

_“Nooo!” Mischa squealed as a cloth napkin swathed her face from cheek to cheek. She pointed towards a sparkling lake, stamping satin slipper feet. Only five and she was a boundless bundle of energy. He could barely keep up. “Wanna go play too! Hanni!”_

_The shimmering outlines of their parents drifted along the shoreline hand in hand. A delicate lace parasol twirled underneath a ray of sun._

_“My heavens! Hold still!”_

_His sister darted out of his grasp and determinedly rumpled the spread picnic blanket. Ribbons trailed after her gold spun hair as she giggled and raced across a field of daisies. She disappeared for a moment on the other side of a hill._

_Hannibal raced after, stooping to sweep her up in his arms as he went. He spun round and round as she shrieked with delight. He kicked off shoes and laughed when slippers were flung to the sand. He took Mischa by both hands and lifted, swinging forward and backward, as toes tapped and splashed water daintily below. They chased one another over sand dunes until he collapsed, letting cool water lap at his ankles, staring up at drifting clouds._

_A tiny body clambered on his chest and Mischa flopped, head in her hands, pouting. “Hanni naps too much.”_

_“You could nap with me, mazasis,” He offered a lazy smile, tucking a halo of hair back with a pointed seashell._

_His sister beamed, eyes the color of gold, and Hannibal felt his chest tighten. She was perfect. His entire world. He knew she would be the most beautiful soul he would ever see._

 

Will rubbed Hannibal’s back as he cried over a plate of delicate twists of fried bow ties of _chruschuki_ that followed his drink. His father’s favorite when they went hunting. The younger man grinned when Hannibal snuffled through his next dish. Reciting a story of how Mischa somehow ended up with jam in her hair every time their mother cooked them _zemaiciu blynai_ pancakes and would be cross for being forced to take a second bath. By the time the older man had reached _kūčiukai_ he too was smiling. He dipped leavened dough in sweet milk and fed the pastries piece by piece to Will who had curled on his lap at the table, nibbling contentedly. He kissed away each poppy seed. They reached their bed, half stripped and kissing deeply, after a tray of mushroom shaped _grybukai_ cookies appeared. Perfectly covered in cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg, glazed to create a white stalk and black cap. It was the older man’s fondest dessert. His sister and mother had made them every year on his birthday.

Hannibal pressed Will to the bed, hands on either side of his face, and found a sweet mouth. Comforting scent of family and fond memories lingered on his skin. He tasted of cardamom and sugar, the warmth of a fire at his front and protection of home at his back.

“Did you…” The older man stroked powder covered curls gently between kisses. “…make all this for me, William?”

“I…”

Will melted in another kiss, eyes slipping closed, before pushing Hannibal to the side to curl against him. He stroked a sharp cheek, eyes the color of silver. Faint blush staining cheeks from praise and adoration.

“I attempted to make something edible from what little information I could find. I just picked out photos on the internet that looked good. I didn’t know what you would want. Or eat. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. We kind of ditched our phones after a check point and I didn't want to worry you. Stupid plan, I know.” The flush spread down his neck towards his chest, shifting self consciously. “I hope you didn’t look too hard at any of the food. It’s kind of a mess. But.” Will laughed, covering his face shook his head, pointing to himself. “I’m kind of a mess. So… kettle meet pot. And that one in the oven—not even going to try to pronounce it—is definitely burnt by—“

A small sob of relief interrupted. Peering through slotted fingers Will realized Hannibal was fighting tears again.

“ _Hell_ …please don’t cry, angel, please,” The younger man begged, brow knitting.

A thumb smoothed a wrinkle near a beautiful mouth. “Thank you.”

“For…what?” Eyes squeezed shut. “Being a complete idiot?”

“For marrying me,” Hannibal murmured, dragging lips over eyelids and then a mouth, pressing a sigh and tears against it. “For being good to me. For coming home. And making me both utterly miserable and exquisitely happy.”

Will creaked open one teary eye and then laughed, kissing back. “I try. Now either keep kissing me or come feed me burnt pie, would you?”

“If you agree to one simple term.”

“Uh-huh, what’s that?”

“For the love of saints..." Hannibal rolled Will beneath him, heart stirring to find love, a kind soul, looking out at him from a sweep of the heavens. "Stay in bed and let me sleep after.”

A nose wrinkled. "Fine. I guess." The younger man caught the hand drawing across his mouth, light filling eyes above, searching his, and kissed a palm, murmuring, "What? What is it? What do you see?"

"Home, William, I see home."


End file.
